THE MUSIC OF MY SOUL
by Capturing Essence
Summary: Dr.John Hamish Watson would never hear the most beautiful, soulful music his dearest friend would ever compose. And he sadly would also never know that it would be solely for him. GENRE: EPIC FRIENDSHIP. Rated 'T' for strong theme. Full summary and warning inside. EDITED


AN: Please note the GENRE and the WARNING.

Non Beta'ed and Non Brit- picked. I sincerely apologize in advance for all the mistakes.

**GENRE: Epic Friendship, Tragedy and Angst.**

**WARNING:**

**1. ****Contains implied major character deaths.**

**2. Attempted Poetic language.**

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**SUMMARY:**

**_Dr. John Hamish Watson, MD, former Captain of Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers of her Majesty's Royal and loyal army, would never hear the most beautiful, soulful music his dearest friend would ever compose. And he sadly would also never know that it would be solely ever be meant for him and him only._**

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He stood there by the window, staring at the road below… not closing his eyes even for blinking.

If he had been somebody else, it would have looked like he was expecting someone to walk by and enter the house after trudging through those seventeen wretched, squeaky steps of 221B Baker Street and complain about those mean-minded chip and pin machines, anytime now.

…

The sky outside had changed from the gray colored shroud it had been the whole day, to a pale yellow and later to the golden orange of the sunset. And then finally it slipped so very casually into the eerie deep-black of the midnight, complete with its merrily twinkling stars and all, to put up a show in front of him… As if nothing had changed; as if his world was not titled off the axis he never even knew it was on till then... As if his world could ever be the merry again.

…

If he had been somebody else, he would have been wishing on those winking stars to return one of the most precious things he had lost that day…

…

If he had been somebody else, he would have been searching those skies to see if the one he had lost that day was that one star which seemed to be shining just a tad too brightly that night…

…

If he had been somebody else, he would have been nostalgically looking at those incandescent gaseous balls far-far away from the earth, remembering that these luminescent fire balls were once the cause of a friendly ribbing or two…

…

All these thoughts would have flooded his mind if just he was just somebody else. But no, he was not somebody else. He was Sherlock Holmes and he just stood there near the windows of his flat, playing one of the most beautiful and sorrowful music anyone would ever hear in this world.

The music was so heart wrenching, that to all those whose ears it reached, the only thought passing through their minds, as they clasped firmly to the hands of their dear ones was that, that such a fate should come to none. That nobody should be left so alone in this world that they don't find any meaning in it anymore.

Tears were streaming through the eyes of everyone who heard that music. It seemed as though it was an involuntarily response of the heart to the soulfully sorrowful music his violin was making.

…

He, the ever-thinking Sherlock Holmes, just stood there by the window of his flat, staring blankly at nothing. There was not even a single thought in his mind. And this was first time ever in his life that his mind had been so completely blank.

Even the lone tear which had escaped through those icy blue-gray eyes had long dried to leave a stain on the polished wood of his violin. It seemed as if even his own thoughts were scared to enter the black hole of deep sorrow that his brilliant mind had become by then...

…

He just stood there without a torrent of tears staining his porcelain skin; like it would have been, if he had been somebody else. But no, he was Sherlock Holmes and tears were just not enough to express the extent of his sorrow. Because no flood of tears or hurricane of words would ever be able to convey what he feels… So he, Sherlock Holmes, just tries to ease that heart crushing pain in the only way he knows… He pours out his pain through the strings of his violin.

…

But, he is a genius. And he knows that there is no cure for this kind of pain.

…

But then again, Death does cure all pain...

…

So he, Sherlock Holmes, stands by the window of 221B Baker Street playing his violin; waiting impatiently for that moment, when all his pain will be completely cured… forever.

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**AN:** This story was inspired by all the lovely reviews that I had received for my FF 'The woman who changed their lives' which said that John may not know it but Sherlock would surely play the violin for John too, just like he did for Irene, if the need came. So thanks to every person who commented, favorited and placed alerts for that story.

_**I would be really happy to know your views on this piece. So kindly do take a minute or two to do so. **__**And I reply to all the reviews I receive. :)**_

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_**PS: **I want to say a huge Thank You to all those who have favourited this story. It's really nice to know you think this is worth being in your list of favourites. :)  
_


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